Jane Swift and the Caduceus
Chapter 1 - I cheat in a fight...sort of I will never get over the fact that, whenever I walked into the centre of that arena, people screamed loud enough to drive me over the edge. Whether they loved me or hated me, they always seemed determined to deafen me. Every damn time! I keep thinking to myself What the hell did I do to them to make them scream so much...oh. That's right. I fight, I win, I get screamed at. That's the way things are, I suppose. You entertain people, and all they do is make your ears grind with pain. My name is Jane Swift, and I'm a daughter of Apollo. I don't know exactly who he is, but I know that he's my father, and he's the Greek God of Music and Archery and Poetry...and he's a douche. That's about it, and if anything I wish I knew why he created me. That's the one thing that I can never figure out. Why he met my mother, and why he insisted on putting a baby in her. And why that baby is now fighting people and getting shot at and having people scream at her. I don't know if I'm that good looking. I'm pretty tall, I suppose, with rather big muscles, like a professional boxer, and my hair (Which, for some reason, I always keep in a braid) is cocoa-brown. Whenever I look in the mirror, the first thing I notice is my cobalt eyes. I'm in Greek armour, and a helmet with a ridiculous red horsehair plume, and I'm carrying a round shield with a swan emblazoned on it and a pretty badass sword, a three-foot xiphos to be exact, in either hand. And, when I enter the arena wearing a metal helmet, the metal only makes the screaming of support and hate worse! Entering into the arena, the first thing I'd always noticed is the ring of metal statue around it - a lightning bolt, a trident, an owl, a bull's head, a swan (Just like the one on my shield), and a wolf, among other things - and the fact that, above those statues, stands a huge spectator's ring that's always full of people and monsters - and when I say monsters, I mean snake people, Cyclopes, satyrs, nymphs, you name it. Except minotaurs...for some reason, we never got minotaurs. Maybe they can never fit through the door into the arena. I've never cared. I've killed five of them in my lifetime. To clarify, I was a part of the Achilles Arena - a special arena that was built after the death of the greatest warrior in Greek history, Achilles. In honour of Achilles' father, Ares, an arena was built to immortalise Achilles, in which demigods would be hired to live and fight one another for glory to determine the better combatants. In the arena, there are rules, but only the strongest, smartest and luckiest survive. To say who's the luckiest is tricky, but usually, after a fight in the arena, you know who's the strongest or the smartest, and nobody can use luck as a weapon. And, whenever I walk into that arena, I'm always dreading what the arena master will make me fight this time - one time, he just made me dodge poisoned arrows for over an hour, on a river infested with piranhas. One time, I had to fight and beat two snake people with my bare hands. Now, I only wonder what he's got for me this time. Then the gate opposite my side of the arena opens and a lone figure walks through. She's a few inches taller than me, and built like a bear, wearing the same Greek armour but with a blue plume. And, instead of my sword and shield, she's carrying a two-headed axe. I recognise her already, but the figure of the Achilles Arena master rises from his box in the audience and announces it anyway. "Ladies and gentlemen, monsters and freaks, boys and girls," he shouts, his brown eyes flashing in the sunlight. He's wearing an expensive-looking sheepskin jacket, despite the heat, and baggy jeans, and he's got rings on every finger. His long hair is always combed...it's as if he's always trying to rub it in people's faces that he's the king of the castle, so to speak. His name is Harry Prescott, and he's a son of Dionysus - if the almost always drunk look on his face didn't give it away, he sits on a silver throne entwined with grapevines that he usually picks out when he's bored, "I give you, our reigning champion, Kayla Jameson, the daughter of Ares!" There's a look of pure belligerence in Kayla's eyes. I already hear enough about her among the other contestants - she's the reigning champion, and has defeated every single opponent she's faced. Everyone who hasn't fought her, and there are precious few of them, are terrified of her. I've never fought her before, which is worrying because I've fought everyone else at least twice. "Rules!" called Harry, "First to knock the other to the ground, unconscious or dead, is the victor. No use of your powers beyond physical prowess. In this case, you may only use the weapons in your hands and, if you are disarmed, you can only either surrender or attempt to retrieve your weapons. On the count of three, you will begin." I face Kayla. She's gone from belligerent to confident. It occurs to me that all of the children of Ares that I've fought all have the same looks on their faces, no matter what angle. "One!" My hand tightens on my sword, and Kayla grips her axe with one hand, both heads protecting her chest. "Two!" I muttered to myself the lyrics of Eye of the Tiger. I always sing before a fight, for some reason. It makes me feel like I can do this! and I just know that I've got nothing to worry about. "Three!" And Kayla comes at me like a charging bull. I dodged the first axe swing, and the blade shrieked as it passed over my head. I batted the axe out of my way with my shield and swing for Kayla's head. Kayla swings back and the axe knocks my sword aside. I stab for her knee, but she blocks that and swings for my neck, but I block her. However, the blow I blocked was so powerful that it sent me reeling back, struggling to stay upright. Kayla comes at me again, the axe howling as it comes down on my head, but I block it with my shield and it causes such a tremor that my arm shudders and the clang it makes is almost painful. The crowd gasped, and I rolled between Kayla's legs and planted a solid two-foot kick to her backside. Kayla reeled forwards, snarling, and slammed face-first into the wall of the arena. When she turns to face me again, her eyes are white with rage. This time, I press my advantage and cut straight for the free space in the back of her knees, but she sees me coming and catches my blade with her axe, twists it out of the way and slams the shaft of her axe into my face. The blow is jarring, but as I spin around I'm compelled to suddenly slam my shield into her cheek, and the edge of my shield glances off of her temple. We were both knocked back and, when she looked back at me, there was a small dent in her helmet. Only a small one. "Fight properly, girls!" screamed Harry, "We're getting bored over here!" That's basically his way of saying Beat each other up before I beat you up!. And nobody wanted to go against Harry. Incensed by his taunts, I attacked Kayla with blows to her legs, which she blocked, but then I stab right into her shoulder. The plated armour on her shoulder protected her, but it visibly irritated her that she'd left such an opening for me. She scythed at my head with her axe, and I was compelled to duck before she could cut my forehead off. She advanced, and I let her, changing my strategies. Her axe powered into me like a boulder, but I swatted her blows aside with my shield. She drove me back across the arena, and once her axe actually left a jagged scratch along my chestplate, but I missed death by an inch by elbowing the shaft of her axe away. Then I suddenly had an idea. I started to sing! "We built this city," I muttered, loud enough for Kayla to hear, "we built this city on rock and roll, built this city. We built this city on ''rock ''and ''roll...." And I could already see that the intended effect had started to appear, since Kayla suddenly powered into me with an elbow strike and knocked me off my feet. "Shut up!" I remember a story from one of the younger kids, when Kayla once heard someone playing ''We built this city on their JVC, she stormed in and smashed it, claiming it was the worst song in the world. If that's how she reacted, then she lost her cool...and if she lost her cool... "We built this city on rock and roll..." I continued. Kayla screamed and her attacks became more vicious, and one blow nearly shattered my shield. I staggered back and I distinctly saw Harry lean in, intrigued. Kayla charged, and I struck underneath her aim, cutting into a weak point in her shoulder. She snarled and I saw a nettle of blood slither out from under her armour. She stared at the blood, and screamed with rage. Then she charged and swung her axe so hard that it knocked my shield right out of my hand. I wanted to reach for it because it was my easiest defence against her weapon, but then she swung at me again and I slammed my sword into the head of her axe. She swung again, and the blow hit me in the head so hard that I lost my helmet. My braid flailed out from under my helmet and I glanced up, just as she attacked again. I continued singing and she continued screaming, and her following blow almost cut me head-from-shoulder. But she was tiring - my stab under her arm had clearly had an effect. The axe arced back towards me and I weaved underneath it. I injected the tip of my sword into her horsehair plume and twisted, knocking her helmet off. Then I slammed the pommel of my sword into her temple so hard that she couldn't think to cry out. Kayla stood there for a moment, then she toppled back and hit the ground, unconscious. The crowd shrieked at the sight of my triumph and most of the spectators bolted to their feet and clapped. I turned and observed Harry, who sat casually in his silver throne, twisting grapevines between his fingers. He looked at me, and then he stood up and clapped. When the applause died down, I turned to the stirring body of Kayla. Then I looked back at Harry. I raised my sword, and the crowd's applause intensified. Then Harry raised a hand and the silence died. He stepped down from his throne and glanced down at me. "Congratulations, Jane Swift. I name you the champion of the Achilles Arena." he glanced at Kayla, almost callously, then back at me, "I have seen Kayla eclipsed before in combat...but never quite like that. As your reward, I shall allow you to ask of me one thing that you want. If it is in my power, then it is yours - I swear on the River Styx." The crowd applauded, all of them looking at Harry like he was king of the world. I could tell, even then, that he was enjoying every second of him. There's nothing that an arena master who makes other people fight each other loves more than people loving him for it. I stepped closer and we were eye to eye, "With your permission, my lord....I would like a quest." The applause, and the noise in general, died quicker than a bullet fired. I knew that I had struck a chord: as a rule, in the Achilles Arena, there were no quests, and nobody may leave the arena campus without Harry's leave, especially on quests. But I couldn't tell if Harry was thinking about it, or if he was furious with me for suggesting such a thing. "Done." A smile appeared on Harry's lips. It was a smile that a face like his was born to make, like everything in the world was perfect, "I shall consult the Gods. I shall ask them for a quest...and if they reply, then that quest is yours, you have my word." I bowed (No idea why), and sheathed my sword, picked up my shield, and turned to leave through the door I'd arrived in, only just noticing the tree nymphs gliding over to Kayla's body to carry her to the medic. Chapter 2 - I share a coke with a Veteran The arena is my home. The campus is my home. Combat is my home. That's the one thing that I never forget, every day since I was hired. After the fight with Kayla, I remember that most of all, because when I enter the arena to face whatever creative challenge Harry has for me, I know that those three things have been epitomised by me. We don't fight for the Gods. We don't fight for glory. We fight because this is our home, and if we keep losing we're thrown out and left at the mercy of monsters. There were so many of them when I arrived for the first time, and I don't know how many hundreds have come and gone, and how many are left. While I was loosening my chestplate in my room, getting back into the black T-shirt, blue jeans and brown leather hunting jacket I always wear out of combat, I remember thinking about the way I'd cheated Kayla out of a fair fight. Singing was something that I wasn't sure was illegal in the arena or not, if it was meant to infuriate your opponent. I'd probably made Kayla hate the song even more after that day. But I did that to win, and that's what mattered the most to me. Winning, so I get respect, and if I get respect from the crowd or from my opponents, or especially from Harry, then I get better challenges and better conditions. That day, I got to eat with the Veterans. The Veterans were the elite of the gladiators, the ones who were too old or had won too many times to want to continue fighting - it was more interesting to see teenage demigods fight one another. The Elite could be distinguished because they all had tattoos - the tattoo of the bull's head, the symbol of Ares, which commemorated their experience and skill and respect. There was always the black tattoo of a bull's head on the collarbone of the Veterans, and whenever any of us passed a Veteran we pounded our chests and chanted Strength and Honour to them. Most of the Veterans were good guys. They had to be, otherwise they weren't respected and thus unworthy of the tattoo and the title. I remember one of them got drunk and tried to pick a fight with Harry - I remember him leaving of his own accord, looking like he'd had an ocean-load of wine, and unable to speak. Rumours were that he never spoke again. Those kinds of Veterans were the kind you wanted to be nothing like. There were some Veterans you always wanted on your side, or always wanted to admire. I've admired a fair few since I'd been there. But, in my opinion, my favourite of them was Karl Skinner, the son of Athena that I remember sharing drinks with so many times. I was sharing a pint of Coke with him at the table after I'd gotten changed, and we always did it in the Observatory, which had an amazing view over the huge, snow-capped forest outside. Karl was a big bloke, in his early twenties, with really thick arms and chest and legs strong as steel. He always wore khaki shorts, a green sleeveless jacket buttoned up to his collar, and a T-shirt with the Greek owl of Athena on his chest (Each Veteran had a T-shirt that showed off their godly parent). His hair was black, and he'd shaved it to a crew cut because short hair was hard to grab in a fight and easy to wash and dry. His eyes were grey, like storm clouds, and he had perfect teeth. He was also my instructor - every Veteran was expected to train ten demigods at a time, and Karl was mine...he was a great teacher. He knew his stuff, knew how to say it so even the dumb kids could understand, and he was a damn good fighter himself, if the other kids could be believed in what they said about him at night. He had been on the streets most of his life, and he was sixteen when he was invited to the arena - he'd been fighting monsters for so long, it seemed to come easy to him. He was left-handed, but during a no-holds-barred duel with a daughter of Hecate his opponent had cursed his left hand to work like it used to, so he was forced to use his right hand to wield a sword. Rumour had it that he was much better with his right hand than his left. "You fought well today, Jane," commented Karl, with an accent that betrayed his Texan background. "You were watching?" I asked. "I always watch my kids fight," he said, "that way, I know just how to train them later on. Your strategy was perfect, even I struggled to predict it. And, well done with the singing tactic. The last thing Kayla needed was a reminder of that JVC incident." "I thought it was underhanded, but I duel to win." I muttered. So many times, I remember us discussing strategy over drinks, but this time I think he'd made an exception - which was rare, because Karl was notorious for his fixation with training and strategy. He was punctual, he was sometimes blunt, but he was always honest. That's probably what I liked about him, "Do you think that Harry will deliver on giving me a quest, Karl?" "He has to," Karl answered, "he swore on the River Styx. Otherwise..." he trailed off. Nobody wanted to talk about what would happen if you didn't deliver on a promise sworn on the River Styx, "Anyway, well played: Precious few of us get to ask for quests. Well played" He'd always say that, every time someone impressed him intellectually or with cunning, or something like that. Usually, coming from him, the rest of us got envious when he said Well played to someone. He drained his pint in one go, and then it immediately refilled itself. He sighed, "How's the head?" "It's seen worse. Remember the time that satyr set my hair on fire." We laughed like that. He stood up, then patted me on the shoulder. "Come on. Let's have a look at your archery." he said, and I got up. Reaching behind me, I pulled my collapsible bow out and pulled a switch on the handle - in three seconds, it expanded into a silver, curved longbow with a thin, unbreakable wire. Picking up my quiver, I followed him to the archery range two corridors down from us. The archery range was a huge, oval bunker-like space, nearly fifty-by-twenty metres wide, and there were a string of archery targets at the opposite end to us. Karl sat in a small cubicle, the controller's box, in front of a board of switches and levers and called out to me, "Let's see how well you fire under pressure." He flicked a switch, and suddenly the place was filled with pitch darkness. I tensed uncontrollably and nocked an arrow, before the lights returned and suddenly a huge, disc-shaped target arced straight for my head and I fired instinctively. The arrow cleaved it in two, and suddenly I knew that there was something coming behind me, so I turned and there was a mannequin flying at me from above. I fired upwards with another arrow, cleaving through its chest and splitting it into three equal pieces. Karl flicked another switch and suddenly the ground shook and I yelled. Three more targets dropped in towards me, and I fired at one of them - I was aiming for its eye, but I struck it in the neck, and the other two I struck right in the chest and left in pieces on the ground. We continued training for a couple of hours, in situations ranging from me being blinded by thick green smoke, to squadrons of Telekhines charging at me from behind, to being hung upside down and forced to fire while I was being swung from a wire like a conker. Every time, I hit my target. At the end, Karl called me down and clapped his approval. "I pity the soldier who faces you next with a bow in your hand." he laughed. "I don't. They'd have made a mistake in even approaching me!" I was lying, of course. I didn't like killing, which was lucky because you didn't have to kill in the arena. If it was a rule to kill your opponent, then I'd have been kicked out after my first fight. We trained for a little longer, with him leading me through several manoeuvres and techniques - we never fought one another, as a rule of Veterans to never duel with others in the arena unless in an official duel or in the arena. Besides, I never would have wanted to fight a Veteran in any circumstance, because they were usually the best and the most unpredictable of any opponent. After he'd finished running me through how to fight with my sword in reversed grip, I noticed a figure approaching us from behind. Her name was Gina Torrance, and she was a daughter of Persephone - one of the rarest of any minor god's demigod. She was everything that would have made a popular girl - sexy, funny, clever and kind. She had long pale blond hair in plaits around her neck, pretty blue eyes, a model's figure and always wore green jeans, a white tube top with long sleeves and leather sandals. She was an inch shorter than me, even though we were the same age, and she'd been fighting and winning in the arena for three years. In a fight, she'd always wear light armour that afforded agility, and the only protection she had for her head was a gorget around her neck, and even outside of the arena she kept her two long knives strapped to her thighs. "Gina." greeted Karl, and I did also. Gina walked up and, as a habit of hers, wrapped her arms around us both as a greeting. "I've just come from another challenge from Harry - I have to steal a gryphon's eggs from her nest...and I only just made it out with my left arm." She giggled to herself, and I noticed a thin scar along her wrist, not deep enough to draw serious blood but still distinctive. "So," she said, "Harry asked me to come and say that he's got a visitor for Jane...a very important visitor, apparently." Karl turned to me and smiled. "We'll carry on later on," he decided, and I nodded. I followed Gina out of the archery range and out into the open - the entire place was snowcapped, and the beautiful white mountains made me want to cry that they looked so amazing. I spotted several other training grounds, including several obstacle courses for the younger kids and spear-throwing arenas for the more experienced. Once you were initiated into the arena properly, you trained inside with the Veterans. I didn't spend much training outside for very long. The Achilles Arena was a huge campus of fifty acres, and Harry lived in a huge pavilion at the top of a small hill - a blue and purple-striped pavilion which was netted with grapevines. There was a mahogany door to it and, when Gina knocked I held my breath. I remember thinking, who could possibly want to see me and be considered so important? I opened the door and entered. Chapter 3 - I'm offered a quest I don't know what I was to expect going into Harry's tent - probably portraits of himself lining the walls, mirrors dotting the floors so he could see himself, a barbecue in the middle where he could cook his own food as opposed to us having to go first-come-first-serve for it. What I got was an ordinary pavilion, with two braziers erected in the middle of it, and with a silver throne where Harry sat, wearing blue-striped pyjamas. He looked like he'd actually been pulled out of bed for this. He looked at me and yawned, and I tried not to think that my presence bored him. Then I looked to my left and I saw that there was a third person in the room: A five-foot man with a runner's build, dressed in black nylon running shorts and a New York City Marathon T-shirt and joggers. He had almost pointed ears, salt-and-pepper hair that was close-cropped and seemed to stand on end like trimmed grass. His eyes were thick grey-blue, and he had the skin and facial lines of a much younger man than he obviously was. He stood against one brazier, completely unafraid of getting burned, with his arms folded and a look on his face that both welcomed and warned you. He turned and greeted me with a smile. "Good evening, Jane." he said, "I'm sorry I brought you from training, but as messengers go I'm probably the most hectic." "Jane..." said Harry, but the man cut him off. "Be quiet, please. I'm trying to have a conversation with my niece, here." said the man, casually. "Niece!" I couldn't help but exclaim at that. The man smiled. "It does get confusing after a while." he said, empathetically, "I mean, for some, you can be their grandkid and they can look old enough to be your brothers." "I'm sorry..." "Well, let's take it from the top:" the man cleared his throat, "I'm Hermes, the Greek God of Thieves, Roads, Messengers and Postmen. And you're Jane Swift, the daughter of Apollo, my brother...hence, the niece thing." I gasped, "Hermes...I'm sorry, we've never met, and you look so different from your statues." "Thankfully," laughed Hermes, "I'd find it hard to appreciate being made of stone." I felt like laughing, but I was just so nervous looking at the god in front of me. "What do you want from me?" I asked. Hermes looked over at Harry, and Harry got up from his throne. He walked down from it and waited until we were face-to-face. "I consulted the Gods about giving you a quest," he said it as if it made him uneasy to do somebody else a favour, "and they replied with a Prophecy, only recently made by the Oracle of Delphi. Hermes, if you could please show her." Hermes clapped his hands sharply and one of the braziers blazed in a pillar of green flame, and I jumped. The flames twisted into the face of a withered old woman, and I stared. I could see the flames frame the curves of her face, and the formation of lines as her mouth opened to speak in a high, terrible voice: "She shall court the King of Scorpions, in his maze of shells, And save the accused from her blackened cells, The Staff of Thieves shall fall from grace And her mother's hate, she must brave to face She shall fly with the Hunters and break the forest's back, And suffer despair's bittersweetest attack." The flames then rested back into ordinary ones, the woman's face vanished. Hermes looked up from the fire and back to me. Suddenly, I felt like the whole room had gotten colder. "The Staff of Thieves....you're the God of Thieves." I stammered again, for some reason. I didn't know why I was so nervous. Hermes obviously wasn't mad at me, or wanting to destroy me - which was, apparently, something that Gods were really good at doing. "My Caduceus, my staff and symbol of power...is missing." Hermes sounded like it was something really, really hard for him to say. "Your Caduceus." I remembered that the symbol of Hermes was a staff with snakes twirling around it, with wings at the head. And I realised that he wasn't carrying it with him right then and there. "That's why I need you," Hermes explained, "My Caduceus is my primary mode of communication with...everywhere. It's the way that I communicate one being with another. The way I make deliveries...you see where I'm going. It's something really important to me, and I need you to retrieve it." "How did you lose it?" I couldn't help but ask that, but it felt like that was something I really didn't want to know - how can a god lose his symbol of power, much less his signature device? "I..." Hermes paused. I could hear Harry's heavy breathing as he watched us talk, "I was caught off-guard. I had to deliver something to the Underworld, and I was waylaid by a call...there are some calls that I cannot ignore, you see. Some that I really have to answer, or some really bad stuff could happen. And this one came from Harlem, but I really don't know who sent it. I went to Harlem and...something happened. I really don't know, but then suddenly something struck me in the ankle. I honestly don't know what it was, and I see everything...but I was on my knees and suddenly the Caduceus was ripped from my hands. When I tried to reclaim it, somebody stung me again in the back. And, when I recovered, the Caduceus was gone. It was gone!" For a moment, Hermes' expression flamed with rage and he struck one of the braziers with one hand so hard that it exploded in a white blaze. Harry yelled and I staggered, temporarily blinded by the light. When I looked back, the brazier was missing a head and Hermes was breathing deeply, as if he'd just recovered from a thirty-mile sprint. He looked back at me and cleared his throat. "Sorry about that." he breathed, "Anyway, you wanted a quest. I know one place where the Caduceus could have been taken: I need you to go to Central Park in New York. There will be an indication there as to where you go next. That's all I know, but you must understand that this is a quest and I cannot help you any further than this. Go to Central Park and find Mnemosyne. She will help you next, though I cannot say how. I cannot control the prophecy." "Mnemosyne?" I frowned, "Who in Hades is Mnemosyne?" "I must go. Harry, your father sends his disregards." Harry's lips visibly arched with anger at that. Hermes smiled and looked at me, "You must find me my Caduceus, Jane. You must." Then, as if it had been there the whole time, a stone trapdoor appeared in the floor beneath him and Hermes calmly floated down. When the trapdoor sealed, it disappeared and all that was left was cold ground. I looked at Harry, and suddenly his confident, superior exterior had returned from the grave. "In the morning, you'll have three other people to accompany you in your quest." he said, coldly. He waved a hand at my face and walked back to his throne. I turned to leave, but then I looked back at him. "Harry," I said, "Who is Mnemosyne." Harry looked at me, and suddenly there was a smug look on his face, like he knew the punchline to the greatest practical joke in human history. "You don't know. You're going to wish you never did, girl." I hated it when he talked like that, said girl as if he were a grownup. I got the message, and then left the pavilion. If I'd turned back to look into one of the braziers, I would have noticed that, for a moment, Harry had turned back to the brazier and another face had appeared in the flames. Chapter 4 - We have a snowball fight with monsters Category:PG-13 Rated Story Category:Apollo Category:Hermes Category:Action